


Something Spicy

by Ysilme



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: B2MEM, B2MeM 2018, Brothers, Budding Romance, Cats, Domesticity, Eregion, Erestor has many talents, Friends having a good time, Gift Fic, Gwaith-i-Mírdain, M/M, MPTT Yule Fic Exchange, Misunderstandings, Music, Ost-in-Edhil, Second Age, Spices, Worldbuilding, and perhaps a secret, at least he thinks so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysilme/pseuds/Ysilme
Summary: Lacking experience sometimes means making mistakes and can have unexpected consequences. Like making new friends, or finding love.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_lasbelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_lasbelin/gifts).



> The first chapter was originally written for the [MPTT Yule Exchange](http://lotr-community.livejournal.com/384260.html) as a pinch-hit for red_lasbelin for the following prompt: _Gildor as a main character with any or all of these prompts: spice, miscommunication and gold._  
>  **This part has now been rewritten and extended, and replaces the first, shorter, version.** The second part is a prompt fill for [B2MeM](https://b2mem.dreamwidth.org/) 2018, Initial prompts, no. 3. More parts might follow at a later date. Both parts can be read as stand-alones. 
> 
> _Disclaimer:_ This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien's creation, done purely for enjoyment. No money is being made. I promise to give the characters back more or less as I found them.  
>  Many thanks to [curiouswombat](http://faerie-archive.com/viewuser.php?uid=83) for beta reading!

The halls of the House of the Mírdain lay empty. No wonder, Cambréthil thought, it was already well past the usual working hours, and most people would have gone home by now. Just a few would still be tinkering about in their workshops, like his brother Erestor, who must have again forgotten about the time. This happened so often that Cambréthil had not waited long when Erestor failed to show up for their usual end-of-the-week drink, but had come to collect him instead to drag him away from his newest project.  
  
Surprised at the raised voices coming from his brother’s workshop, Cambréthil halted in front of the door. It sounded as if Erestor had not forgotten about the time after all, at least not today.  
  
“What do you mean, you do not have the money?”  
  
“What do you think you were doing?”  
  
Two different voices, both unfamiliar and clearly unamused. Cambréthil’s first instinct was to hurry to aid his little brother out of yet another fix. Erestor would hardly be grateful, though, since they were now both of age, apprentices in their own right, and well established in the guilds of their respective crafts. But a bit of moral support would certainly not go amiss, so when the shouting stopped for a moment, he rapped at the door and entered.  
  
Three pairs of eyes in various states of upset turned to him, making him wince. Erestor looked somewhat desperate, but Cambréthil could not tell if it was because he was in difficulties or because his brother now knew. Knowing Erestor, it was likely the latter.  
  
“And what might you be wanting here? This is not the town square where everybody can come and go as they please!”  
  
An important-looking elf in the robes of the Mírdain appraised him with raised eyebrows. Cambréthil shrugged, unimpressed by the craftsman’s haughtiness.  
  
“I came to fetch my brother as usual, but I can wait if you still have need of him.”  
  
The Mírdain snorted. “That we have indeed, for a matter of the utmost irregularity has transpired, and we need to --”  
  
“Nothing of the kind has transpired, as you have been told before. This is not a matter of your guild, so will you kindly stop interfering and leave me to conclude my business as I please?” The third person present, a tall, dark-haired elf in outlandish garb and with a surprisingly deep voice, looked with so much disdain at the Mírdain that Cambréthil was immediately taken with him, no matter that he also obviously had strife with his brother.  
  
“On the contrary, prentice Erestor is a member of this guild, so any matter concerning business he transacts is --”  
  
The tall stranger took a step towards the Mírdain and pointed to the door. “Out. Now.”  
  
Cambréthil’s respect for the stranger rose. Who was this, that a member of the mighty Mírdain obeyed him at a word, since the Mírdain in question was now indeed doing as he was told, albeit with much grumbling? Cambréthil was sure he had never seen him before in Ost-in-Edhil, although Erestor obviously knew him well enough to have business with him. Taller than most, with broad shoulders, a strong build and eyes of an intense, clear grey. A Noldo by the looks of it, probably related to the Master Mírdain if he had such authority over a craftsman.  
  
When the door had closed, the stranger turned to Erestor. “Back to our business now that we are again undisturbed. So did I understand you right, you cannot pay me the agreed transport fee for the delivery?”  
  
Erestor shook his head, cheeks flushing. “I am afraid so. You see, there has been a misunderstanding: I was made to believe that the sum already paid covered the whole delivery, not just the cost of the -- the wares.” He darted a quick glance at Cambréthil.  
  
Cambréthil decided it was time to aid Erestor after all. This was not some simple fix, but a matter of business with somebody it was unwise to cross. He stepped up to Erestor’s side.  
  
“Forgive me for intruding, but perhaps I can help. I am Erestor’s brother and apprenticed with the Guild of the Healers, and if there is any sum still needing to be settled, or anything else, I am more than happy to help my brother out.” He refrained from adding that he wondered why Erestor had not come to him with such a problem in the first place, or had made an obviously costly order without telling him about it. It was not as if the brothers had any secrets from each other.  
  
Erestor wrung his hands, his blush deepening. “No, please, Brethi, you must not know what -- I mean, I am well capable of dealing with this myself. It has just been a misunderstanding and I am sure I will be able to settle everything with Master Gildor in a moment.”  
  
“If you have a reasonable suggestion to make, I am willing to hear,” the stranger said.  
  
Master Gildor, Cambréthil corrected himself mentally. So this was the famous kinsman of the Lord Celebrimbor, well known for wandering the width and length of Ennor with his company. How he came to be the deliverer of anything Erestor wanted remained a mystery, though. Master Gildor certainly was no trader or businessman, that much he knew.  
  
“Erestor, what on Arda have you ordered that you cannot pay for it? It must be something truly special if it was delivered by such an illustrious envoy.”  
  
“Oh, just some rare spices from the Harad, but they were to be sent with urgency, or so the missive said,” the illustrious envoy explained, lips twitching in amusement. “This also increased the delivery fee, but I imagine young Erestor here was not aware of this.”  
  
“Spices? Whatever do you want with spices?” Of all the unlikely items Cambréthil could imagine Erestor buying, spices certainly ranged high, and particularly rare and doubtlessly costly ones from the far countries to the South.  
  
Erestor shook his head, visibly mortified, looking from his brother to Gildor and back. “No, I was not, but it is of no consequence, Master Gildor. I deeply regret that I cannot pay the desired sum immediately, but I pledge upon the honour of my guild that your gold will be paid at the earliest possible opportunity, with any interest you deem appropriate. I never intended to cheat you out of anything that is your due.”  
  
Turning to Cambréthil, he continued: “The spices are for you, blockhead! I wanted to give you something special for your first yén. It was no mean feat to order them in the first place, and to have them delivered in time, and I am really grateful to Master Gildor for making this possible. But now everything is for naught as you know already everything and the surprise is gone!”  
  
Erestor looked so distressed that Cambréthil put his arm around him for a quick embrace, not caring what the Noldo might think of it. Gildor, on his part, raised his hands, unable to hide a grin about the brothers' exchange. He was clearly at ease now, all previous anger gone, Cambréthil noticed with relief.  
  
“Easy, easy, I never meant to imply you would cheat me, Erestor!” Gildor said. “I suppose I was unduly enraged earlier, and unfairly so, as you certainly have not given me reason to be. You certainly had the agreed-upon sum ready, and if you were not aware of an additional delivery fee it is no problem to pay it later, with your word as a sufficient pledge. I must admit the presence of that high-and-mighty guild bigwig was what really put me out, as it felt rather insulting that you would be asking a guild member as witness for our transaction, and then have his arrogant self turn on me.”  
  
“But I did not ask him to come!”  
  
“Yes, I know that now. It was clear the moment when he accused you of doing business in the name of the Mírdain.”  
  
Erestor nodded with a sigh. “I seem to have made about every conceivable mistake about that dratted order that could be made,” he said with a wry grimace. “I am very obliged to you for putting him into his place. I should not have asked you to meet me in my workshop, but I wanted to avoid my brother getting any notice of this.”  
  
“That clearly went very well,” Cambréthil said drily. All three looked at each other and broke out in hearty laughter.  
  
“I am sorry to have spoiled the surprise,” Gildor said. “Can I make this up to you two with an ale or two at the tavern? My throat is parched from all this talking, and I am dying with curiosity about what your brother would want with so many spices.”  
  
Cambréthil and Erestor exchanged a glance.  
  
“Gladly, but this is on me,” Cambréthil said. “If I had not come, or not insisted on knowing what is going on, Erestor might have succeeded in keeping his secret after all. Please take this also as our apology that you have to wait for your reimbursement, although I hope Erestor will allow me to disburse the necessary sum now that I know what it is for. Do not worry, I expect repayment of every penny,” he added at Erestor’s glare.  
  
Gildor nodded. “Accepted, although I have a better suggestion. Bringing the spices here caused neither expense nor effort on my part; I do not regularly trade or transport goods, but accept a commission like this one on occasion as a favour to a friend. If you tell me about why a box of exotic spices makes for a fitting first yén present, and I might perhaps see or even sample some of the results, I consider myself amply paid.”

~oOo~

  
After Erestor had tidied and locked up his workshop, the brothers took Gildor first to their home, to deposit the large wooden box with the fragrant treasure Gildor had brought from the South. Cambréthil kept sniffing and trying to guess the contents, but Erestor remained steadfast, claiming that he wanted to keep at least part of the surprise for the celebration.  
  
“I am still waiting for that explanation,” Gildor said when the three of them wandered towards the tavern.  
  
“My apologies, that was not intentional.” Cambréthil smiled. He was not sure if the Noldo really wanted to know or if he merely found the whole affair entertaining, but it did not matter; Cambréthil always enjoyed talking about his passions. “You might be disappointed, though,” he added, “for my interest serves a very mundane purpose. I like to cook, and am particularly interested in new recipes and ingredients from exotic places.”  
  
Gildor laughed. “Cooking! I expected something much more remarkable. Unusual physics and remedies, perhaps, since you are a healer, or perfumes and beauty products. But cooking!”  
  
“Well, his food can give you a very nice red colour in the face,” Erestor quipped, and Cambréthil gave him a friendly cuff on the shoulder.  
  
“Served you right, since you chose to ignore my warning that the stew was really hot.”  
  
“So you already have experience with chilli pepper?”  
  
“Yes, we cultivate it in the greenhouses at the Physic Garden, for pepper has various medicinal uses. There is usually more than enough for the Houses of Healing, so the surplus is offered to anybody interested. But I am more interested in unusual and foreign flavours and victuals, although many of these are difficult or impossible to be found hereabouts.”  
  
Gildor nodded. “I know. One of the attractions of travelling is the diversity of victuals and dishes everywhere. I have tasted the most fascinating things on my journeys, and some I really miss when I am here in Eriador.”  
  
“Oh, I would love to hear about your travels and all your adventures!”  
  
“Provided they are of a culinary nature,” Erestor remarked dryly, and again, the three of them joined in hearty laughter.  
  
They had arrived at the tavern, and Erestor opened the door, letting out a gust of warm air scented with ale and food, and the cheerful noise of people having a good time. “Hurry up, it is rather full already. I hope there is still room for us.”  
  
Cambréthil led the way inside and to the last free table, a rickety affair right at the door to the kitchen. When their guest and his brother were seated, he asked: “What would you like? Resto, they have your favourite spiced ale.”  
  
Erestor groaned. “Just a plain brown for me, thank you very much. I have had my share of spices for today!”

~oOo~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes:**  
>  Tolkien tells us in the _Laws and Customs Among The Eldar_ that Elves reach the shape and stature of an adult around their 50th year, while some are fully-grown only around their 100th. I’m happily adopting the fanon notion of equalling the age of 50 or 60 with maturity, but also think that for a people with a more or less infinite lifespan, a period of transition between youth and the full responsibility of an adult seems likely. So does a celebration to mark that date which must be an important one for a young elf. Since Elves are also counting time in long years, or yéni, equalling 144 solar years, I find it logical to chose not their 100th, but 144th begetting day for this occasion, with a major celebration to mark the occasion. Likewise, I think an apprenticeship is also most likely to take place before or around that age, like it's the case for Cambréthil.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for B2MeM 2018 for the initial prompt no.3 (prompt set 1). See end notes for the prompt.

 

The scent of frying onions and something spicy permeated the air when Erestor opened the door. He sniffed appreciatively; his brother was home early and doing one of his special dishes by the looks of it. He did not recognise the aroma, though, so Cambréthil would be trying out something new with his precious collection of herbs and spices. Erestor yawned, taking off his cloak and hanging it on a peg on the wall, relishing the warmth of their cottage after the chilly autumn air. Sitting down, he tugged off his boots when a small shape ambled over and rubbed his head on Erestor’s knee in greeting.   
  
“Hullo, Duron! Did you miss me?” He ruffled the fur of the black cat, scratching it behind the ears and smiled at the loud purring he got in return. The cat wound around his legs when he got up and padded, on stockinged feet, into the main room of their small cottage, which served as kitchen, dining, and living room.  
  
Cambréthil looked up from his chopping board. “’Evening, Resto. You are late, had a bad day?”  
  
Erestor yawned again and flopped down onto a chair. “Do not ask. I needed to finish a particularly tricky bit of soldering, and it would not take. And when I thought I had it finally done, it came off again at cooling.”  
  
“Did you manage?” Cambréthil stirred something in a large pan, added a couple of handfuls of chopped greens, and stirred again.  
  
“No, I have to start again tomorrow.”  
  
“Tough luck.”  
  
“Hmpf.”  
  
Duron came in and jumped on Erestor’s lap, starting to purr again when his belly was dutifully rubbed.  
  
“I think he missed you,” Cambréthil remarked with a nod towards the cat, before turning to a shelf full of small jars and boxes. He opened one, sniffed, closed it again, and repeated the process until he had selected three. “He has been between my legs since I came home, giving me reproachful glances each time I looked.”  
  
“Did you now, my little furball?” Erestor smiled at the small black face with eyes closed in bliss, while the lithe body stretched out on his knees.  
  
Cambréthil snorted. “It has been some time since that one was little!”  
  
“Do not heed him,” Erestor told his cat. “He never complains about your size when you are snuggling up with him in bed!”  
  
Steam rose with a loud hiss when Cambréthil poured some liquid into his pan, stirred again, and then covered it with a lid. The brothers’ eyes met, drawing comfort from their easy understanding and the familiar harmony underlying their friendly banter.  
  
“Can you lay the table? Dinner is almost ready.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Erestor yawned, set Duron down after a last pet, and went to wash his hands. Opening the top cupboard, he asked: “Do we need plates or bowls? Whatever you are making smells divine, and like something I should know, but I cannot identify it.”  
  
“Bowls, please. Cauliflower and greens in a spicy sauce, after a recipe from Khand. I do not have all the ingredients for the original recipe, and added Umbar parsley instead, but I think it tastes fine even so.”  
  
Erestor took out two flat, wide, bowls, glazed in warm shades of red and orange, and carried them over to the table.  
  
“Sounds yummy. Have you made this before?”  
  
Cambréthil shook his head. “No, but I think you are remembering the Palak Paneer of a few weeks ago, which is somewhat similar.”  
  
Setting the bowls on their placemats, Erestor went back for cutlery, napkins, and two mugs of similar making, but with a lighter orange-yellow hue. They usually had tea with any Far-Harad food, and their large, bright-red teapot already sat on the table, steam rising from the spout. Erestor sniffed and recognised mint and something lemony, his favourite.  
With a contended smile, he laid the places, and gave the napkins a neat little fold. As much as his brother enjoyed cooking and baking, Erestor enjoyed the small, beautiful, items that made a house a home. It was he who had chosen the crockery and sewn the matching placemats, napkins, and seat cushions, as well as most of the curtains and cushions around their cottage, and he was particularly proud of the delicately wrought cutlery of his own design and making. He was a prentice of the Mírdain and an accomplished silver-smith already, but what he most loved was creating beautiful and practical items for everyday use. The coaster on the table, made to protect the wood from the hot teapot, was one of his favourite pieces, wrought of thin iron strands in intricate knotwork patterns that looked like a cat curled up for sleep. It was one of the work pieces required for his fellow’s assessment, and he was proud of the high honours he had received for it.  
  
Duron came over and wound between Erestor’s legs, expecting and getting more pets. Then he hopped onto the bench which stood against the wall, laid down onto his own cushion alongside Erestor’s place, and started to groom. Erestor joined him on the bench, pouring himself a cup of tea, and resumed the petting, which earned him an occasional lick as a thank-you. Cambréthil was puttering around, cleaning up his work space while waiting for the food to be done, while Duron finished his own cleaning-up and was now purring and kneading Erestor’s thigh.  
  
Erestor sighed with contentment: this was his favourite time of the day. Home after the end of the day’s work, surrounded by his favourite people, and relaxing in the cosy comfort of their own home. Any demands or obligations had been met and answered until the next day, and all he had to do was to enjoy what the remainder of the day would offer. Not that he needed much in that regard: company, a good dinner, and perhaps a book or some music later was all he wanted.  
  
As if on cue, Cambréthil brought the pan with its fragrant content over and sat down. While he filled their bowls, he said: “Gildor is back.”  
  
Erestor looked up. “Is he? I had not heard.”  
  
Cambréthil nodded and held his cup out for tea. “He came to the Healing Halls, helping a friend who had been injured on their journey.”  
  
“Uh-huh.” Erestor poured the tea and pretended to not be interested, although he doubted he could fool his brother.  
Still, he would rather not talk about the exotic Noldo who regarded himself as their friend since that delivery incident last spring. They had met again for a drink once or twice during Gildor’s stay in the city, and after that, small parcels had arrived on occasion, containing some unusual ingredients or spices and a note by Gildor with a fun tale of how he had acquired them. Erestor had kept in the background during all of their encounters, too shy for more than the occasional answer to a direct question, and also convinced that the handsome Noldo sought the company of jovial and outgoing Cambréthil, and not his clueless brother. It was no use anyway; Gildor was far out of their league, and Erestor was best advised to keep any admiration for a well-defined body, a sensitive mouth, and a pair of clear grey eyes to himself.  
  
“You should have invited him,” Erestor said, trying to sound casual. “He would have enjoyed this dish, and we still owe him a dinner as delivery payment.”  
  
Cambréthil grinned. “Actually, I have, but he was already bespoken for tonight. But he is coming tomorrow, and hopes to see you, too. He particularly inquired about you, you know.”  
  
Erestor blushed. “I am sure he is just being polite.”  
  
“If you say so.”

~ oOo ~

Later, a couple of Cambréthil’s friends came over, bringing a harp, a lute, and lots of merriment. This was a common occurrence, for his brother had many friends, and Erestor always enjoyed those evenings of music and storytelling, although he preferred to sit and listen and politely declined when asked to share a story or a song himself.  
  
“Suilad, Resto! How did that soldering go?”  
  
A dainty girl with curly black hair plonked herself down on the settee at Erestor’s side. She was a fellow Mírdain as well as an accomplished lutenist, and Erestor was quite sure she was secretly in love with his brother. He grimaced.  
“Badly. The base came apart again when cooling off, so all of my today’s work was in vain.”  
  
“Oh dear, that is tough luck!” Laerneth patted his knee comfortingly before she started to unpack her lute.  
  
The others were already tuning their instruments, while Cambréthil reappeared from the pantry with a plate of snacks and a jug of wine. Once everybody had helped themselves to some refreshment, the conversation drifted towards music and the newest song popular in the taverns, and soon Ivordir plucked the melody on his harp, trying out some variations, encouraged and accompanied by the others.  
  
Erestor had got out his knitting and let his thoughts drift while his needles were busy. He enjoyed the cheerful, companionable atmosphere, finally able to let go of the day’s work and worries and relax. Now and then he joined into the conversation, like when Arthon, the third visitor, thanked him for the music stand Erestor had made for him, and accepted a refill of his glass. The next song Laerneth stroke up caught his attention.  
  
This time, the harp started with the first notes, quickly joined by the lute and Cambréthil’s flute, and Arthon’s soft tapping of a contrapuntal rhythm on his small drum, before he began to sing the first line.

 _Over the mountains_  
_And over the waves,_

he sang, looking at Laerneth who took over,  
  
_Under the fountains_  
_And under the graves;_  
  
now it was Ivordir’s turn,  
  
_Under floods that are deepest,_  
_Which Ulmo obey,_  
  
and finally, Cambréthil put down his flute for the last line:  
  
_Over rocks that are steepest,_  
_Love will find out the way._  
  
The song was new to Erestor, and he blushed deeply at the implications of the last line, trying to avoid everybody’s glances, for he was sure this was meant particularly for him. But his brother caught his gaze, grinning openly and winking conspiratorially at Erestor.

0-0-0-0-0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes:**  
>  For culinary purposes, I’m loosely equating Khand with Indian and Umbar with Chinese/Thai cuisine, regardless of any other known or fanon cultural references of these parts of Middle-earth. Likewise, “Far harad-something” is used as a common denomination for anything that would be “Oriental and Asian” in modern Western culture.  
> Therefore, Umbar parsley would be coriander, also called Chinese parsley.
> 
> The song is the prompt no. 3 from the initial prompts for B2MeM 2018, Anonymous, 17th century. I replaced the original “Neptune” with “Ulmo”, though.


End file.
